


Fallen

by LadyoftheWoods



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Wings, Damaged wings, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Fluff, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Week, Sympathetic Logic | Logan Sanders, Unsympathetic Morality | Patton Sanders, Winged Logic | Logan Sanders, angel au, fallen angel logan, serpent of eden deceit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25055341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Logan falls from heaven. Instead of dying, he finds aid from a familiar face.
Relationships: Deceit | Janus Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 8
Kudos: 150





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in a day.

He’s falling. 

Crashing, really. 

Through the atmosphere, through plains of reality, he’s broken the sound barrier, and he wonders if he’ll ever hit the ground. At this point, he wishes he would, just so the anticipation would be over. 

His wings burn and tear and scorch at the edges from the force of the fall. Feathers fly around him, not that they’ll cushion his eventual landing. He can see them blackening at the edges, the wind ripping them to shreds, and it hurts, oh, it hurts. 

But he’s numb. Passive. Apathetic, he supposes, is the best word, because what else can he be? There’s no way to stop this, no way to change it, the only thing he can do is give in, and hope that the ground snaps his neck on impact. Otherwise, it will be a slow, painful death. 

He would pray for mercy, but there’s not much use for prayer, now. 

God won’t answer him.  
…  
His breath escapes him, his heart stops beating, everything freezes for a just a moment, and it takes his brain a second to catch up with his body, for the agonizing, burning, endless waves of pure excruciation to hit his pain receptors, and he chokes on the torment in his soul. 

He tries to move, to sit, to crawl, but he can’t even twitch his fingers, even that burns with the heat of a thousand stars, sends him reeling into a darkness that swallows him whole, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been, when he wakes, days or hours, but the pain hasn’t diminished. 

He’s almost grateful he can’t seem to turn his head, because he can’t bear to see the state of his wings, he knows it’s a bad sign that he can’t feel anything at all from them, meaning more than likely they go beyond broken to unsalvageable, and that more than anything breaks him down into a howling, wretched, mess. 

He painted the sky, he placed the stars, he wove the cosmos into being, and now he can’t even touch them. Will die here, on this rock hurtling through space, without ever touching his stars again. 

And for what? 

A couple questions? His curiosity? His desire to discover everything and anything and how it all worked, and why it all worked, and somehow, somehow, that was blasphemy, when it should have been considered the purest kind of love, that he wanted to know the humans better, know their world better, well. 

He can feel blood trickling from his mouth, though he doesn’t know if it’s from internal injuries or simply because at some point in the fall he bit his tongue. He’s too tired to care. He’s cold, as well, an unusual feeling, it was never cold in heaven. Even now, his sluggish mind is trying to process the new feeling, trying to determine the consequences, trying to understand, but it was slow.

Everything feels slow. 

He barely notices the vibrations against the ground, the footsteps approaching, until the shadow is hovering over him. He barely hears the person whistle lowly. Barely manages to open his eyes for a fleeting second, as he feels himself be moved, picked up, held, and he instinctually presses against the warmth.

“Something did a number on you, didn’t it?” The voice murmurs, rumbling in their chest, a soothing feeling, another thing to catalogue. But he’s already slipping away, as some small movement tweaks his wing joints, and he screams at the electric anguish it sends racing through his veins.  
…  
Warm. 

He is warm. 

His entire being pulses with a dull, endless ache. His soul feels ripped to shreds. His heart feels shattered beyond repair. 

Yet he’s alive. 

The world is a blur. Warm browns and dark woods, something soft and gentle beneath him. Something fluffy and warm wrapped around him. He can feel something wrapped around his chest, something pinning his wings back, trapped and he hisses, tries to pull at the restraints, tries to get free, tries to escape- 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do that.” He freezes at that voice, a blurry shape coming into view, black hair with a white streak, and he recoils, afraid, breath hissing through his teeth at the ache sharpening to a stabbing in his skull. “Sorry, sorry, it’s okay, but, uh, you really need to leave the bandages and stuff alone. One of my friends fixed you all up, I don’t know shit about healing and stuff, but he said if you ever wanna use those again, you gotta let ‘em heal.” His breath hitches at that, and his focus didn’t sharpen, but the ache in his heart did. 

“they’re broken. they shattered on impact. Based on my velocity, into a thousand tiny pieces of bone fragments that can’t ever be pieced back together. Not only that, the flesh itself tore apart from the speed and the crash, I can’t feel them. They’re nothing more than useless weights to drag along behind me. I won’t fly again. Don’t lie to me. I’ve already lost everything, don’t lie to me.” His voice is dull and emotionless, his spark is dimmed to an ember, he doesn’t have anything left in him. 

“I’m not. I swear, they’re not a lost cause. It won’t be fast, or soon, but he said that you’ll be able to fly again. He’s, uh, not really a human, so, he used some of his voodoo magic or whatever, and it seems to have stuck.” He’s too tired to try and parse out whatever that means, but a kernel of hope is soothing the ache, now, because if he can fly, that’s all he needs, he just needs his wings, and he’ll be able to make it. He just needs the stars.  
…

He’s crying. 

He doesn’t know why, but tears are slipping down his cheeks, still half dreaming. 

He hadn’t thought it would be Patton, who would turn him in. Didn’t think he’d done anything worthy of being turned in for, which was why he hadn’t been afraid. Even as he was standing in front of the council, explaining himself, he hadn’t been afraid. 

He’d thought it all a misunderstanding. 

Until the clouds parted under him, and sent him hurtling down. 

Until Patton said he was sorry, but this was for everyone’s own good. 

Until he reached desperately up, expecting someone, anyone, to grab his hand, haul him back up, to say this was wrong, or all a joke, but instead his grasp closed on air, and he fell. 

He’s fallen. 

That doesn’t hurt. Not really. It’s the betrayal that hurts. That twists like a knife in his side, that stabs him through the heart and breaks him, because how long, how long, how long, had Patton been planning this?

He’d thought Patton was curious, like him, he always listened so attentively, always asked questions, the only one who actually cared about his speculations and interests and studies. 

And it had all been a lie. 

It would make him angry, if he had anything left in him besides tired, down trodden, defeat. 

He should have been smarter than this. He knows how pure Patton sees himself, sees the other angels, sees heaven. He knows how he looks for corruption everywhere, how he supported the flood, but he’d just been glad someone wanted to listen. 

And it cost him. 

“-been sleeping.” 

“Still, I’d like to check on him. Those wounds need redressing.” A new voice, soft and sibilant, soft voice, one he almost recognized, almost remembered, but his memories seem blurry on the subject. 

He cracks open his eyes as footsteps approach, the room slightly less blurry, now, he supposes some of the swelling on his face must have gone down, allowing his eyes to open fully. 

A face comes into view. One half is covered with golden scales, that trail down from his eyes and extend down his wrist, encasing his hands in their soft shimmer, one eye a snake’s, the other a dark, nearly coal, black, and there’s something strange and graceful and ageless about him. 

“serpent.” He greets, voice rasping and whispery, and he sees the figure inhale sharply, take a step back. 

“logan. Oh, stars, what did they do to you?” He isn’t sure how the serpent knows his name, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are slipping shut and he doesn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore, he doesn’t care what happens to him, he just wants to sleep and never wake up. “Shhh, it’ll be ok, love. Jussst sssleeep.”  
….  
Remus watches as Deceit smooths back the winged man’s hair, Logan, he’d said, a strange look on his face, a strange combination of anger and fierce softness. 

“You know him.” He says, and Deceit lets out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. 

“I know all of them, Remus. I was there when they were made.” 

“But you know him, personally.” Deceit’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t answer, instead shifting his attention back to Logan. 

“He’ll be out for a while. He’s exhausted as is, and my influence will keep him that way long enough to do what needs to be done. I’d rather he not be awake, it’s going to hurt considerably rebandaging and preening those wings. You might want to lay down a tarp. This will get messy.”  
…

He remembers something. 

Distant, hazy, broken pieces of thoughts. 

Painting the stars, laughing at something someone else said, someone with a golden glow and long brown locks, hazel eyes alit with the cosmos. 

Speaking beneath a tree, well, more of an idea of a tree, a conceptualization of a tree, a fuzzy, hesitant painting of one. They are mapping the sky, planning it out, tracing future constellations. 

Patton. Sky blue wings, ripping away the gold. For his own good. Too many questions, too many doubts, too many mistakes, but he wouldn’t let him, he was wrong!

Patton froze. His expression morphed into something cold, something that made him feel something new… fear. 

He was afraid as Patton gripped his arm too hard, shoved him back, somehow freezing him in place. Bright light lit the space, Janus screamed, colors flashed, his vision went dark, and everything stopped.  
…  
He shoots awake. 

His wings are still pinned back, but he can feel them, now, a relief, though they ache, yet. 

He can hear speaking. He forces himself to his feet, nearly tumbling over at the dull wash of pain, at the unbalanced weight of his wings behind him, which would usually help steady him or be tucked primly back, now hindered by splints and bandages. His head swims, so full of memories and shifting images and he needs to get there, needs to reach him, so he forces himself forwards, leaning heavily against the walls, until he reaches a doorway, trips over a rug, and goes falling to the floor. 

Impact never comes, someone swears, and catches him, and he opens his eyes to those mismatched ones, so strange, but so familiar, and he doesn’t hesitate, now, to throw his arms around him, and cry. 

“I know, darling. It hurts. But it will be alright.” Janus murmurs to him, clearly mistaking his anguish as being borne of his fall, or his wounds, and he shakes as he feels him card a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry.” He manages, through great, gasping heaves of air. 

“shh, there’s nothing to apologize for, love.” He’s so kind, even now, he’s so kind, even when Janus thinks he doesn’t know him, doesn’t recognize him, even when Logan is simply another fallen angel, and Janus is supposed to be the tempting serpent, he’s kind, and it’s such a Janus way to spite Patton, who turned him into this, into the face of deception and trickery, accidentally giving him the keys to all the knowledge he’d ever sought. 

“my fault. You f-fell and it’s m-my fault. Patton did this to you, b-because I said he was wrong, he did this to you, and then he m-made me f-forget.” He stutters, feeling Janus freeze, his breath caught in his throat, and a hand is tilting up his chin, to meet those endless eyes. 

“what did you say? What… this is a trick. A trap. A ploy. He wouldn’t-“ He cuts off Janus, pressing their lips together, closing the space between them, and Janus is suddenly holding him close, desperate for his warmth, and he very nearly laughs at the joy surging through him as they part. 

“Janus. You are Janus. The serpent of Eden, the guardian of knowledge, everything Patton did to hurt you only made you stronger, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have fought harder, I should have remembered, I shouldn’t have let him continue to use me, I should have known-“ 

“you can’t know everything, love. His power is strong, he’s ruled as a tyrant for so long, I’m… I didn’t expect you to remember, ever.” Janus murmurs, gaze roving over every inch of his face, his hands caressing his arms, as if once he stopped, Logan would vanish. “I’ve missed you.” Janus presses another kiss to Logan's lips. “I looked at the stars every night, remembering you. I’m sorry for the pain, but I’m selfishly not sorry you fell, not when it means you’re here with me.”

“I’m not either. I’m not sorry. I’m so proud of you, Janus. I…” his voice breaks, and he buries his head against Janus's chest. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, darling dearest.”

“I'm sorry. He took the sky from you. I’m sorry.” He cries softly, feeling Janus rock him.

“it doesn’t matter. You’ll still have them. And I have you. That’s what matters, Logan. You are my stars. You are my universe, and Patton failed, because we are together, and that is all I’ve ever dreamed.”

They stay like that, holding each other, whispering memories and I love yous and kissing for a long time, drowning in each other until the sun set and the stars rose.


End file.
